Turn This Engine On
by Artemis Rex
Summary: Steve is working late by himself at the DX, and Evie stops by for some extracurriculars.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, nor do I own "Take Me Home Tonight (Be My Baby)" by Eddie Money.

Author's note: There's no plot here; it's porny fluff. Also, the first time I uploaded this, for some bizarre reason, because there's only one file, it uploaded an earlier draft. I don't hate it, but this is a little better - for porny fluff.

* * *

" _. . . let's find the key and turn this engine on . . ."_

Soda turned back at the doorway, one foot out the door. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go on and go," Steve said, leaning back in the chair behind the register, trying to wipe the grease from his hands. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get it out of the creases in his hands any more. "You pick up plenty of shifts for me."

Soda grinned - that sunshiny smile that drew everyone to him. "Thanks, man. I really owe you. I didn't want to miss Pony running at regionals."

"Get out of here before I change my mind."

Steve was glad it was Soda tagging along after Ponyboy this time, instead of Pony tagging along after them. He never used to follow Soda and Steve around so much, but since their parents had died, Soda was always dragging him along. Steve had asked him why once, and Soda had just shrugged.

"I just like having him around, I guess," he said. "He's home alone a lot, since Darry started working nights, and I want to keep an eye on him."

Steve got it then - Soda thought something might happen to Ponyboy when he wasn't looking. Just like what had happened to their parents. Steve didn't like it, and he let Pony know it, but he didn't protest Pony tagging along. If it helped Soda deal, then Steve could handle it.

It bothered him, though, that everyone was so worried about Pony. It was like everyone had forgotten Soda had lost his parents too. He had said as much to Dallas.

"Who gives a fuck about parents?" Dallas had growled, but without any real heat. Dallas had liked the Curtises, too; they knew the score.

XXX

He sat behind the cash register at the DX, bored out of his mind, tossing a pencil up into the air to see if he could get it to stick in the ceiling. So far, he'd had no luck. Time crawled without Soda to shoot the breeze and play cards. They were between cars, so he didn't even have anything to tinker on. He was even glad when someone pulled in for gas, he was so bored.

Steve sighed, tossing the pencil on the table and pulling a comb out of his back pocket. He fixed his hair, using his reflection in the glass case across the room.

Steve was damn near ready to close up for the night. He looked at the clock on the wall above the door. It was a quarter of ten. He picked up the pencil again, started tapping out a beat against the counter.

The bell over the door jingled. Steve looked up, even selling a pop or a candy bar to somebody was better than just sitting around.

Evie Roberts walked in, wearing a skirt that stopped three inches above her pretty knees and a sweater that was so tight, it should be illegal. In defiance of fashion, her jet-black hair was cut short, like Twiggy's hair, and it curled around her ears and hugged the nape of her neck. Her wide brown eyes were the color of warm honey and good whiskey, and her skin was so pale, he could see the delicate tracery of blue veins marbling it.

The pencil fell from Steve's suddenly nerveless fingers.

"Hey, Steve," she said, her tone sultry.

She pouted at him. Steve couldn't remember her mouth being so red. She looked good with the stark contrasts, like some Golden Age movie star or something. His eyes kept going back to that red, red mouth and his brains were going in circles, too.

Evie strutted over to the counter and leaned over it, giving him a nice view. She could give Jayne Mansfield a run for her money. Steve counted three buttons undone on her sweater and forgot to breathe.

"What do you want, Evie?" he asked warily, unable to drag his eyes from the general area of her chest. "I'm working."

"I missed you, Steve," she breathed, twisting a lock of her short black hair around a finger. With her other hand, she slid the tips of her fingers – armed with very long, very sharp nails – under his chin and pressed upward until he met her eyes. "Isn't it time to close yet?"

Steve's throat was suddenly very dry. He swallowed, looking up at the clock. It was 9:47 p.m. Almost fifteen minutes before the DX was supposed to close.

He looked back at Evie, opening his mouth to explain he couldn't – not just yet. She'd given up on playing with her hair and was running the edge of her nails along the side of his neck. He closed his eyes; damn, she knew he couldn't concentrate when she was doing that. He shivered under her touch.

"Evie," he managed to get out.

She started unbuttoning his DX shirt, still running her nails along his neck. He was shuddering like a blown horse.

She tugged on his collar, and, when he leaned forward into her, the smell of honeysuckle flooding his senses. She kissed where she had teased him with her nails, the heat from her mouth provoking an answering, heat - although much lower. When she got to his ear, she nipped him. It startled him and his eyes flew open. Anybody could come in here and see her undressing him and he'd lose his job for sure. Steve grabbed her wrist, stopping her from moving down to the next button. She already had half of them undone, exposing the white T-shirt underneath.

"What the hell is the matter with you, Evie?" he gritted out. One half of him wanted to let her keep doing what she was undoing and the other half knew it was a bad idea – for the next, he looked up at the clock, eleven minutes.

"Nothing." She gave him wide eyes. "I just want you to know how sorry I am 'bout that thing the other day . . ." She leaned even further across the counter and slid her other hand down his chest and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, pulling it up until he felt cool air on his skin.

Steve frowned. She meant the fight with Carl Hamilton, one of Shepard's boys. Steve had to kick his head in for the third time since spring break. Steve still had one hell of a black eye; Carl wasn't a bad fighter, but even Soda said he wouldn't want to fight Steve when he was pissed. Seeing Carl hanging all over Evie pissed Steve off. She led Carl on, too, just to make Steve mad, usually when she wanted to get back at him for something.

"I don't want you even fuckin' looking at him no more, Evie," he said. "I'm serious as a heart attack, now, so mind me."

Evie's hand delved under Steve's shirt, her warm hands caressing his air-cooled skin, and his whole body bucked at the pleasure of her touch. She practically crawled up onto the counter and her skirt rode up. If it went much higher, he'd see things he only saw in the privacy of one or the other of their bedrooms.

Evie ran her hand down to his stomach. Steve grabbed her other wrist, trying to breathe slowly and evenly.

"We're in public, Evie," he said, upset that his voice was higher than he could help.

Nine minutes.

"That makes it even better." She put another knee up on the counter. Her skirt slid up and Steve could see a flash of white underneath it. He felt a drop of sweat roll down his temple and his chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He let go of her hands and stepped back, taking his comb out of his pocket and running it through his curls again.

"Not if I lose my job," he said. "Now get the hell off the counter before someone sees you."

"Nobody's gonna see me - except for you, if you want." She leaned over and hit the switch that illuminated the DX sign outside. It flickered and died.

"Evie, don't do that," he said, annoyed. He reached for the switch.

Seven minutes.

Evie stretched toward him and bit his earlobe, sucking on it. Steve went stock-still, forgetting to even breathe. She crawled across the counter, until she was kneeling just in front of him, leaning down, her mouth still latched on to his ear. She kept her hands busy, too, running over his chest and stomach, pressing her nails into his shoulders, running those same nails down his back. She purred with satisfaction, like a cat with a bowl full of cream.

Evie let go and Steve shuddered. He ached so badly for her, he could feel very every one of the teeth in the zipper of his jeans.

"Is it time to close yet?" she whispered in his ear, her breath cool on his wet skin.

Five minutes.

"Yeah." He flicked all four switches that worked the pumps with one hand.

He grabbed her and roughly pulled her toward him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her high heels digging into the backs of his legs, and wrapped one arm around his neck. She grabbed his collar, wrapping the shirt material around her tiny fist. Evie leaned back a little, so she could finish unbuttoning his shirt, and, in her haste, a couple buttons popped off, bouncing off the counter.

By the time Steve made it to the door, turning the key in the lock and flipping the sign to "closed," she'd completely unbuttoned it and pulled it out of his jeans.

She laced her fingers together, cupping the back of his neck and kissing him, nipping and sucking at his lower lip. Steve shrugged out of the DX shirt, letting it flutter to the floor before running his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt and slip up around her waist and sliding his fingers under her panty girdle. Why did girls wear those things, anyway? They were better then a chastity belt, and he needed a crowbar to get them off.

"I'm gonna get you all greasy," he muttered. Her skin was soft, smooth and so silky. It was the finest, most precious thing he'd ever had his hands on. He knew he was leaving grease smudges all over her.

"I don't care," she said. Her fingers were in his hair, but he didn't have any complaints. Her mouth was as hot as a furnace, trailing down his collarbone, and he groaned, shaking, before she turned her attention back to his mouth.

"Where?" Evie gasped, breaking their kiss.

Steve shook his head, heading for the counter again.

"Not there." She pressed her nails into his shoulders until it was almost painful.

"Then where?" he grunted, plucking at the tops of her stockings.

Her only answer was to kiss him deeply, sliding her tongue into his mouth. She'd eaten something sweet, probably candy. Steve sat her on the counter, sweeping all the paperwork and accompanying clipboards off with one hand. They clattered to the ground. She grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, and one of the seams let go with a low ripping noise. She tossed it and it hit the floor with a soft rustle.

"Where?" she asked again.

Steve almost snarled with frustration. What did she mean, coming in here and getting him all worked up if she wanted to go some place else?

Evie ran her nails down his bare stomach, teasing along the top of his jeans, which were painfully tight.

"Glory," he groaned. He could feel his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest like a jackhammer, his pulse pounding in his ears. "There's a Buick in the garage. The backseat?"

She nipped his shoulder; Christ, she had sharp teeth. "What are you waiting for?"

He grabbed her so forcefully he saw bruises on her later.

XXX

Steve leaned against the back fender of the Buick, wearing only his unzipped jeans barely hanging from his lean hips and smoking a cigarette. Evie was a pale blur, barely visible through the fogged up windows.

He flexed his shoulders, grimacing. She'd really racked him up and it stung a little.

Steve took a long drag on his cigarette and glanced over at her, smiling fondly; she was asleep and he'd have to wake her up in a little while and take her home.

Whistling, Steve headed toward the office to collect the rest of his clothes.

"_. . . I can feel you breathe/ I can feel your heart beat faster/ be my little baby . . ."_


End file.
